


CPR

by Solshine



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Canon Het Relationship, Episode: s06e03 The Curse of the Black Spot, F/M, Fluff, Het
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-11
Updated: 2011-10-11
Packaged: 2017-10-24 12:46:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/263615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solshine/pseuds/Solshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her husband is a nurse. She should really know how to perform CPR, more than just "like in movies." Well, it's not Rory's fault. He tried to teach her. Amy/Rory, Oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	CPR

"Amy… Amy! You have to stop wiggling. This is important. Hand placement is very important."

"I'll say hand placement is important," she growled, wiggling anyway. Amy Pond lay on her back on her kitchen floor, her boyfriend kneeling over her.

"I'm liking this change of perspective too," she quipped with a sly grin. "We should mix it up more often."

"W-we're not… we're not mixing it up! I mean, not right now. You're learning CPR. Amy!"

"Ooh, and now you're coming over all commanding. I like it. This is good for you."

Rory gave her his closest approximation of a stern glare. "One on top of the other," he said again, holding his stacked hands up in illustration. "Over the sternum. That's right in the middle of the chest, right here." He poked her in the chest. She squirmed and giggled. He glared again, and she returned it in full force.

"It's not my fault I'm ticklish!" she pouted. But the grin popped up again immediately and she reached out to tickle Rory in return. He grabbed her hands and held her captive by the wrists, refusing to be distracted.

"Heel of the hand over the sternum," he repeated. "And you lock your elbows, and push down two inches."

"Two inches," she parroted solemnly. "Right."

"Now you're going to do thirty compressions, at a rate of about a hundred per minute," he went on, momentarily encouraged by her cooperation. "That's eighteen seconds for those thirty compressions."

"That's a lot of numbers."

"Amy…"

"What am I supposed to do, count to thirty and eighteen at the same time?"

"Well, you practice. Here, here, practice on me." He got ready to lay down on the ground too, but Amy shook her head.

"No, that's boring. I want to do the kissing part now."

"It's not kissing, Amy, it's mouth to mouth resuscitation."

"All right then. Resuscitate me, big boy."

"I'm serious."

"Me too."

Rory sighed a martyr's sigh and bent over his girlfriend again. "First you put one hand on the forehead and tilt the chin back with the other, enough to open the airway." He looked up to see if she was paying attention. She definitely was. She was paying very, very close attention, and her brown eyes glittered. Rory gulped. "N-now, well, now you place your mouth over the victim's mouth, creating a seal, and—mmph!" He was cut off by the 'victim' taking her own initiative on that front. But instead of careful hands on his forehead and chin, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and her seal over his mouth could be more accurately classified as a "proper snog."

Some minutes later, Rory found himself flat on his back on the linoleum, Amy laying over him.

"I thought you said me on the ground was boring."

"I said no such thing," she countered. "I said the chest thumping was boring and I wanted to get to the kissing."

"It's not chest thumping!" he said with some distress. "There is no thumping! It's _compression_. I don't want you thumping anyone!"

"Don't worry," she crooned, nuzzling his neck. "I'd never thump anyone but you."

"A-Amy… Amy! " She progressed up to biting his ear, and Rory groaned. "Amy this… this is _important_ …" With a great show of will he put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back, looking at her pleadingly. "Amy, what if you need to resuscitate someone someday? What if… what if you need to resuscitate me? What would you do then?"

"Oh, I know how to do all this stuff," she replied with a dismissive swat to his chest. "I've seen it on movies lots of times. I'd just do it how they do it in the movies." She met his expression of dismay with a winning smirk. "I'd never just let you die. Trust me, stupid."

And he looked at her, batting her long dark lashes, and he gave up. His shoulders slumped—even lying flat on the floor—and he grinned a lopsided grin at her. Because really, how could he not trust her?

Always?

With everything?


End file.
